The Endless Hunt
by The Emperors Scribe 25
Summary: The Pursuer is a rather mysterious being, but perhaps I can shed some light on this strange figure.
1. Chapter 1

Dark Souls: The Endless Hunt

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**This is the tale of a being of sorrow, who seeks to redeem himself in the eyes of his god. This is the tale of The Pursuer, and his ceaseless search for souls to quench the thirst of his god.**

**Note: This is Fan Canon. I am not going to claim that this is the true story, just speculation.**

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The Pursuer watched as his latest victim died. Some Undead fool who had thought his sorceries would protect him. Blood dripped down his sword, staining his gauntlet red.

The man struggled, twitching as the Pursuers mighty blade was pulled from his torso, a loud squelching sound breaking the silence of this quiet forest.

There were no more birds to scare away, the sounds of battle having already sent them flying from their nests and into the dark night sky.

The sorcerer fell to the ground, still twitching, an occasional gasp breaking the monotony before he finally lay still, blood soaking the ground beneath his warm corpse.

**xxXXxx**

The Pursuer, as he was called by many, was old. He had been hunting down fools in the name of his god for a millenium, and another millenium he would hunt, for his gods lust for blood would never truly be sated.

His eagle had been a gift, now destined to carry him from fight to fight for the rest of its existence, and The Pursuer was no light burden. His decorative but mighty armour weighed more than several men, and he himself was huge compared to most humans.

But the eagle carried him swiftly through the sky without complaint, and he appreciated and even respected the great creature, it's strength and magnificence far outdoing any mortal being.

He looked down and saw his quarry, the coward shooting down his foes with a longbow, several of the hollowed soldiers having fallen to the archer already.

He readied himself and threw his blade downwards, the steel practically screaming through the air before stabbing into the ground, the sheer strength of the throw burrowing it deep into the ground as the archer, clad in a suit of hunters wear, looked at the unexpected addition to his fight.

He was then thrown back by the force of The Pursuer slamming to the ground before him, standing straight before drawing his blade from the ground and readying his shield.

The hunter gasped in both amazement and terror, before turning and running. The Pursuer roared his challenge before floating after the fool, blade held comfortably at his side.

The man turned and fired a hastily drawn arrow at him, the projectile bouncing off of his pursuers greatshield and snapping in half.

The Pursuer was almost offended by this, this coward refusing to face him head on. He readied his weapon and whistled, calling for his eagle, which landed before the cowardly archer, but did not attack, merely screeching at him.

The hunter was now the prey, The Pursuer thought, as he went for a thrust towards the fearful fools chest, but the man found his courage and rolled away, before notching and releasing another arrow towards his foes back.

The Pursuer felt the arrow bit into his back and turned, weapon outstretched, and cut the archer across the chest, his leather outfit failing to even slow the blade as it sliced across his ribs.

The Pursuer followed up with a mighty stab, the blade nearly cutting off his enemies limb before he cut upwards and to the right, splitting the man in two before he absorbed the soul of the fallen archer.

He looked at the corpse and would have spat in disgust, were it not for his helmet. He cleaned his blade on the grass before whistling again, his eagle taking flight and lifting him off the ground, the sudden feeling of weightlessness pushing his heart to his chest.

'Another successful hunt.' He thought as the eagle flew him to his next target.

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**I can only hope this tickled your fancy, and I will (possibly) see you later!**

**Scribe out.**


	2. Chapter 2

The Endless Hunt

Chapter 2

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**Only 8 people read it and only one review... oh well, guess I'd better keep going! No harm in continuing a less popular story. Anyways, I heard that the Dark Souls community would tear you apart if you weren't careful. Come on guys! I can't improve my writing if you don't tell me I'm messing up somehow!**

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'This Pursuer is aptly named' Nicus thought as his white phantom was skewered by an enormous greatsword and thrown aside. The beast of a man had fallen from the sky and sent both of them scurrying for cover as The Pursuer gave chase.

The phantom tried to rise to her feet before The Pursuer picked her up and threw her like a bug, sending her flying into a wall before a snapping sound saw her fall to the ground.

The giant bastard had attacked them in the centre of Heides Tower of Flame, and had thrown a different white phantom to his death, the rather light thief being simply tossed aside by the sheer force of the giant knight slamming to the ground.

Now Nicus was all alone, both of his comrades vanquished by this cruel being, and he readied himself, his morning star and shield held in a low ready stance as he stooped a bit to make himself a smaller target.

He caught The Pursuers first blow on his shield, the force of the blow denting the shield and sending tremors up his arm, leaving it numb, before he swung the morning star at his foes exposed side.

The brutal weapon was ripped from his hands when the spikes stuck only for his foe to lunge forwards, throwing him aside and nearly off the platform.

As Nicus stood, he observed The Pursuer duelling one of the ancient knights, observing the similarities in their fighting and in their gear. Both were using a sword and shield, and both were enormous compared to him.

'But why would he fight something that could assist him?' Nico wondered, before shaking his head and grabbing his dagger.

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The Pursuer ducked another swing of his foes sword, before performing a vicious backhanded swing into the crumbling knights side, crushing armour and snapping ribs with the blow before decapitating it with an overhand cut to the neck.

He gasped at the sensation of an stab to his back, the original warriors dagger spearing between armour plates and biting into his back. He spun wildly around and kicked the fool away before readying his blade for his most lethal attack yet.

His greatsword began to glow a light blue as he readied himself for a thrust. The soldier he was fighting rose from the ground, realising too late what was about to happen. He raised his shield, desperately trying to stop his opponent.

The Pursuer spun and used the momentum to thrust his weapon through his foes chest and into his torso, the blade flashing blue as the soldier screamed in pain, before The Pursuer flung him away with a snap of his sword, the body dissolving from the energies released by the strike.

The Pursuer whistled, and the eagle descended from its perch atop the cathedral to lift him into the sky again, and he felt his gods power flow through him as he left this realm and entered another.

Nothing would stop him, not the Undead, not the beasts of this world. He was The Pursuer, and he would forever hunt his quarry, all for forgiveness for his sins. None would survive. None.

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**And thats another chapter out of the way! Now, I want to hear some feedback about this thing. Is it boring? Poorly written? Scatterbrained? Tell me your reasons for hatred or love of this project and I shall act upon them.**

**Scribe out.**


	3. Chapter 3

The Endless Hunt

Chapter 3

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**So people tend to ask me, "Why are your chapters always so short?" One, My creativity comes in bursts. I find myself with small pockets of time where I want to write, so I try to make the most out of my time. Two, I have a bad tendency to leave stories for ages unless I routinely write for them. I update as often as I can because the way I see it, if I stop writing, it'll be really hard to start again. That's my reasoning/excuse, now on with the story.**

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The Pursuer had been born of a kingdom so old, even he couldn't remember its name. They had worshipped the God of Blood, and were engaged in a perpetual war against their neighbours, who worshipped an old God of the Sun. He had been one of their mightiest warriors, a true champion of his God, before it all fell apart.

His nation had found peace and prosperity when the war had stopped, and he was left without blood to offer his god. It was that day that the Undead Curse had struck, and turned dozens of beings hollow. He decided, then, after slaying dozens of his former brothers in arms, that he would hunt the Undead until the end of time, and beyond.

He made it a holy mission, and his blade had tasted the blood of thousands, each kill accounting for his nations sins against his god. He had followed and slain thousands, and his god had gifted him as a result. Gifts of levetation, so he might focus purely on the fight, the gift of his eagle, so he may find his quarry more easily.

This is the tale of The Pursuer, and how he came to be...

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"Fight back brothers!" Eldori yelled as he slew yet another one of the undead, parrying its strike before burying his blade in its chest.

The undead had come in the night, and they were fighting by the light of the moon and the scent of their foes blood. They were sloppy. Being in an era of peace saw all but the most devoted fighters skills diminish, and they were winning purely because their foe was even weaker.

He heard a scream of pain, and looked to see Veridon fall to the ground, several blades impaled in his chest, between his armour plates. Eldori cursed aloud and dodged the stab of a broken sword, cutting into the offending enemies skull with his greatsword.

He could feel the call of the Bloodlust screaming his name, but to lose yourself to the Bloodlust was to lose your sanity, becoming little more than a savage animal. He would not accept that fate, though others had.

He blocked a stab of a spear with his shield and swung his blade in a wide arc, decapitating several of his foes. He reversed his grip on his weapon and stabbed it into the ground, kicking another undead away before unleashing his weapons ability, a gift from his god. The Curse.

His sword flashed blue and he thrust forward with it, impaling another undead, before spinning in a complete three-hundred-sixty degree spin and cutting apart a dozen more enemies.

And then he lost focus.

A bow-weilding undead shot him throw the shoulder and two more undead tackled him, their combined weight pulling him to the ground. He roared in defiance and pulled up, but was dog piled by the undead horde.

Suddenly, dozens of blades were scratching away at his armour, one stabbing into his thigh between to armour plates as three undead attempted to tear off his helmet. He had attached it tightly, though and despite their efforts, his helmet remained on. He struggled against the horde, but they were stronger than the thin frames would have him believe.

He felt a blade find a chink in his chest armour and stab him. He gasped as he felt it cut through a lung. He knew he was finished. He struggled a bit more before everything faded to black.

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**(Personal note: I recommend listening to Hammerfalls Last Man Standing while reading this bit.)**

Dardius looked at his fallen brother and charged, swinging his weapon wildly, cutting through the horde as he screamed in anger. He finally reached his brother and pulled off several undead, tearing them from him as he knelt down, checking for a heartbeat. There was none.

His eyes began to tear up as his vision was lined with red, anger and hatred filling his soul. He screamed to the heavens in rage, and picked up his brothers sword, swinging wildly into the charging undead legion, cutting them to pieces, kicking and bashing in skulls with his shield.

He roared with rage the entire time, screaming his brothers name and cursing the gods for letting his brother die. His vision cleared and he realised he was standing atop a mountain of undead corpses, hundreds laying beneath his feet.

He fell to the ground as his fellow knights sorrounded hime, one handing him a flask of water as another put his hand on Dardius' shoulder. They looked at the hundreds of remaining undead, and nodded to one another. They would fight to the end.

Dardius sobbed quietly, muttering his brothers name now, tears falling freely to mix with the blood coating the ground. He swallowed his sorrow and stood up, his shield in his left hand and his brothers greatsword in his right.

He swore vengeance at that moment, upon the undead who had killed his brother... No, upon all undead. Every single undead would perish, die to his steel. He looked to the night sky, and roared his challenge to the gods, screamed his oath to the stars, whispered it to the night breeze.

No undead would know peace as long as he lived.

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**And now we're really getting to the meat of the matter! Thanks for the few people who have read this, please tell others. I live off of reviews and feedback, it's what keeps me writing.**

**Scribe out.**


	4. Chapter 4

The Endless Hunt

Chapter 4

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**And thus the Pursuers tail continues. Thanks for the feedback from ASouffleToServeTwo and the anonymous fellow CC, I feel more accomplished now than ever before. Also, check out Last Man Standing by Hammerfall, It may as well be The Pursuers theme song.**

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Dardius stood up, surrounded by the corpses of fallen friends and foes alike. His brothers greatsword still bloodstained in his hand, he looked around over the desert landscape, sands once brown now soaked red with blood. He took up his shield and sword, and readied himself for battle, but everything was dead. He was the sole living thing in a land of death.

And he loved it.

He gathered up the bodies of his fallen warriors, and set them in a glorious bonfire, a pillar of flame reaching into the sky, before setting off west, the rising sun to his back,

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Dardius looked upon the small, town, bustling with people going about their daily routines, shopping in just opened stores, fetching water from the well and cleaning homes.

He walked into town like the ghost in an opera, a bloodstained figure of death amongst the living. He walked straight to the blacksmiths and told him to inspect his equipment for any flaws, handing the man his sword, which was taller than the him.

The blacksmith inspected it quickly and found no flaws, before handing it back to the odd giant fellow.

"You a sell-sword?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, I am… I am Dardius, knight of the Order of Blood. But you may call me… The Pursuer." The Newly dubbed Pursuer liked the name. It had a sinister ring to it.

"And what exactly are you pursuing?" The smith replied, somewhat impressed by the giant figures title.

"Undead." The Pursuer replied simply.

"Well, there's a small horde of them living in a village over there, over those hills. If you really are a knight of Nahr Alma, than that's the place you'd want to be."

"Thanks for the tip."

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Jordus, a town guard, couldn't believe it. That giant guy in armour had walked into town, gone to the smithy, left and now he and several other guards were dragging corpses into a pile. A whole towns worth of corpses.

They had marched, twenty strong, to the Undead village, and found the lone knight praying amidst several hundred corpses. There was doing them a favour, and then there was blood being spilt for the sake of blood being spilt.

The guy was just kneeling there, head bowed and hands clasped together in a very prayer-like manner, murmuring words, surrounded by bloody cadavers. He must have killed the whole town!

His buddy handed him a decapitated head, and Jordus threw it into the growing pile of corpses, or at least pieces of the corpses. His captain was going to talk to the knight, see what had happened.

xxXXxx

Marten, the captain of the town guard, walked up to the giant knight, who was busy praying amidst hundreds of dead bodies.

"Who are you?" He asked, hand on the pommel of his sword just in case.

"I am The Pursuer, chosen of Nahr Alma and bringer of death to the undead." The strange knight replied, standing up.

"How did you kill all of these things?" The captain asked, gesturing to the piles of corpses.

"I am the chosen of Nahr Alma."

"Nahr Alma? You mean that weird Blood God guy you people worship?"

"So you are a non-believer."

"Who in their right mind would believe in a god of murder?!"

"YOU DARE DOUBT THE BLOOD GOD?! YOU WILL PERISH!" The man roared, drawing his greatsword and decapitating the captain in a single swing, his head flying away into the air as his body crumpled.

The guards immediately drew their weapons, but they were farmers and craftsmen, not knights who had been fighting since birth. They were torn apart by the raging knight.

"What are you…" The last guard whispered as his intestines spilled out from the enormous gash in his stomach.

"I am the Chosen of the Blood God. I am… The Pursuer." The giant replied, turning his back on the weakling fool and walking further west. He needed to find more blood to spill…

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**Aaaaaaaaand, chapter four finished! I feel rather accomplished with this, it's the most serious work I've done for Fanfiction ever. Anyway, please tell me what you think,**

**Scribe out.**


	5. Chapter 5

The Endless Hunt

Chapter 5

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**Hello there, readers! I don't really have anything clever or witty to say here, so lets just get started!**

**(As an answer to Souffles suggestion about looking at other bosses backstories, I'm thinking about it. I don't want to clutter this up with too many characters, but maybe the Lost Sinner and Sinh the Slumbering Dragon could use some investigation.)**

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The Pursuer had journeyed for many years, hunting and fighting, always offering his kill to Nahr Alma. But the god remained silent, never seeming to notice, until one day, when The Pursuers quest became... Interesting.

The Pursuer walked away from the temple, the old construct now empty except for a mass of undead corpses that lay piled on the floor in the main shrine room. The fools had believed he was there for some sacred relic of theirs, some talisman that now lay soaked in blood upon the altar, placed there in reverence of Nahr Alma. He had thought it the right idea, a proper offering to his god.

That was when the headaches started.

For three days and nights, The Pursuer was overcome with a headache, a dull ringing throb in his skull. He killed more and more to distract himself from it, but the pain seemed to grow worse with every kill, not better.

He was clueless. Had he failed his god in some way? Had he lost his mind, or was it the vengeance of a god who's altar lay desecrated? He did not know, until Nahr Alma spoke to him. He felt it in his ears, a low ringing, before a loud voice suddenly broke his pain, filled him with divine light.

He was in the middle of a town square, some small desert town where he was seeking shelter from the ensuing sandstorm. His eyes glowed red, and seemed to penetrate the fabric of existence, his voice grew deep and powerful, and his aura, oh his aura. He smelled of blood, a rich, coppery scent, those around him could practically taste it. And then he spoke.

He spoke to the universe itself, the entire world seemingly hearing the voice. He spoke of his mission, his oath to the gods, he spoke of past deeds, tales of blood and battle. And then he spoke of his gods love for him. Nahr Alma was watching him, he said, and would forever guide him to the hunt, to the kill. His gods will for him to kill all that dared cheat death, that dared defy him a soul. He spoke of the end of this Era, and then the world roared.

Millions of people around the world roared in hatred, and began killing their fellows, began cutting down each other in rage and bloodlust, as the Pursuer rose above the maelstorm of blood, of death and sang the praises of Nahr Alma, the god of blood and battle, war and death, fire and hate. He sang until his gods power left him, but not before a portal was ripped into the material of reality itself, and an eagle flew out, its feathers the colour of dried blood.

The eagle lifted The Pursuer, chosen of Nahr Alma, into the sky, and the true hunt began.

And it would be glorious.

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**(Looks back over the chapter) Holy shit, I wrote that? Christ almighty thats... I don't even know!**

**Scribe... Out.**


	6. Chapter 6

The Endless Hunt

Chapter 6

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**First off, I'm sorry about the length of that last update, it was three in the morning, I couldn't sleep, so I decided to write a short update for the story. I can promise better, longer updates in the future. With that little aside done, lets go!**

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The Pursuer had risen, ascended beyond his mere mortal form. His might was now unmatched by humans, and thus he would hunt. Every undead was guilty, guilty of denying the blood god their souls after death, and he would fix that. His blade was enchanted, both blessed and cursed by his god, with the mightiest of incantations.

Undead he killed with this blade, would remain dead.

He gazed upon the landscape of this rising kingdom, this 'Drangleic', and he rolled his eyes beneath his helm. They would fall to the Undead like every other kingdom, like his own, like the hundreds before them, and they would wonder what they did wrong, not realising the curse was beyond earthly control, that the curse of this 'Furtive Pygmy', this 'Dark Soul', would never stop its cycle.

His god had told him everything during his trance, the origins of the curse, the kingdom that had started it all, the extent of The Pursuers new powers, everything. The Pursuers mind was filled with more information than any sorcerer or scholar could even dream of knowing.

He did, however, have a problem. With the rise of this new kingdom, he had no undead to hunt, and he wouldn't until the curse reared its head again, and thus he was without purpose. He was not undead, however, and thus could not hollow. His immortality was divine, granted to him by a god, not some pitiful disease.

Now he waited, endlessly circling the landscape in an attempt to find something to kill. Hollows were pointless, their souls were already gone, mere animal intelligence drove them. No, he needed something more… substantial offering.

It was almost a century later, he got his wish.

Giants. The great beasts had attacked from the sea, and were attempting do destroy Drangleic. They were assaulting the kings fort along the sea, amidst an unnamed forest, and The Pursuer now had a purpose.

Giants souls were mighty, their blood rich with energy. Nahr Alma would truly appreciate the blood of a giant given in offering. That and, if Drangleic fell, the Undead Curse might halt its progress, and as thus he would not have anything to hunt.

So into the pitched war he flew, falling from the sky amidst the king, Vendricks, soldiers, unsheathing his blade and grinning as the infantry panicked, thinking he was some ally of these beasts. No, they would see soon enough.

He viewed other warriors aligning, knights of other nations, fighting allied under the banner of the king.

The proud Lion Knights of Forossa, their greatswords gleaming as their warriors readied for battle.

The Sorcerers of Melfia, their hooded robes concealing their faces as they chanted ominous lines from some mystical tome.

The various, mismatched knight orders of Mirrah, including the Shadow Knights, there masks concealing their faces.

And various other warriors, all readied for the first true battle of this kingdoms history.

And then the Giants came.

Hundreds of them, each almost twice the size of The Pursuer, bellowing their war-cry as the charged from the beach, rushing the ranks of warriors.

The Forossans were the first to charge. Led by their hero Shieldless Lothian, they shouted various war-cries back as they charged into battle. Following them were the Drangleic Warriors and Infantry, sprinting into battle as the Forossans reached their foe.

The Pursuer took to the air again as the battle raged on, before throwing his sword down, piercing the skull of one giant as he plummeted to the ground, smashing another giants shoulders as he landed on top of it. He pulled his greatsword from the skull of the first giant and spun, cutting the leg off another before stabbing down into the back of its neck, severing its spine.

He caught a thirds club on his shield, the blow ringing up his arm, before impaling him with his weapon and turning, pulling it from the giants sternum as he turned, seeing the Forossans cutting down giant after giant.

He activated his levitation ability and floated through the air towards them, killing giants left and right with almost dismissive swings of his sword.

Lothian, the greatest hero of Forossa, looked at him and nodded in respect. The Pursuer nodded back. It would be a good day today.

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**And that's another chapter finished. This was more setting the scene than anything, but I hope this remedied the fact that the previous chapters weren't very… Character based.**

**Scribe out.**


	7. Chapter 7

The Endless Hunt

Chapter 7

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**I actually started writing this approximately three hours after writing chapter 6. I'm on a roll!**

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Lothian, 'The Shieldless', champion of Forossa, stared this newcomer in the eye. He had an aura of doom around him, this man… no, not a man, this… _being_, was old. Very old.

He too was old, forty-seven, ancient by the standard of Forossa, where your average life expectancy was twenty, maybe thirty if you were a great warrior. And Lothian was a great warrior. A champion of Forossa, a hero amongst men. But this man, he was something else.

Lothian appreciated violence, it was the perfect vent for a mans darker instincts, but this man, he didn't seem to feel anything. He was powerful, but he was also like a machine, no emotion filled his blows, he did not strike in rage or in sorrow, but in the name of killing, in the name of blood being spilt.

Lothian dodged another swing of a giants meaty fist, before uppercutting with his mighty axe, the giants jaw being split in two by the ferocity of the blow. He ducked another blow from the same giant, this time hammering his axe downward, splitting the top of its skull, killing it instantly.

His warriors were strong, no doubt. A sense of pride filled him as they began to shout their number of kills, adding one every time a giant fell to their blade. The numbers were varying, but mostly numbers like six and seven. Several had achieved up to twelve.

He himself had accomplished twenty-four, and he roared "Twenty-five!" after finishing off another giant. Several of his men looked at him disbelievingly, but he wasn't lying. He looked back at the warrior.

The knight was carving up a small group of giants at once, expertly dodging their blows and stabbing or slashing, taking down one…two…three…four…five… Lothian stopped counting after that.

"How many have you killed, mate!" He shouted over the battlefield, directed at the strange warrior.

The man didn't turn for a second, before spinning on his heel and shouting a reply in a deep, terrifyingly powerful voice.

"Ninety-Four!"

Lothian shook his head in disbelief. That was impossible! No lone warrior could… and then the knight was picked up by a giant eagle. Huh.

'_Oh well.' _He thought to himself as he tore apart another giant. _'I just need to kill sixty-nine more.' _

xxXXxx

Velstatd, The Royal Aegis, smashed downward with his mace, crushing another giants skull. This was the forth time he had had to kill a giant who threatened his king. The soldiers were barely holding the line. The Forossans were holding the western flank, and the Melfians were fairly successful in pushing the giants back to the east of his position, but the fort was under heavy bombardment.

Then the knight arrived, and everything changed.

The man fell from the sky, his arrival heralded by an eagles call and his enormous greatsword falling from the sky, splitting the ground and sending out a shockwave that threw back several soldiers. He grabbed the blade and turned to face the army.

Velstatd raised his hammer, ready to fight back, before the knight gestured for the army to follow him as he charged. Velstatd was shocked. This fool was charging the giants? Was he mad?

Then the man started to fight.

His first swing decapitated one giant and severed the hand of another, that same giant then being impaled by the same weapon. He turned and kicked another in the chest, he almost seemed to be floating… Velstatd looked closer. He was floating! He was levitating almost a foot off the ground!

The army watched this in awe, before a massive roar emerged from the ten thousand strong force as they charged, vaulting over makeshift palisades, crossbow fire filling the sky as the knight whirled around amidst the giants, little more than a blur of death, killing beast after beast, seemingly untouchable.

Velstatd roared and leaped through the air, landing amidst the front rank of the army as he led the charge, raising his hammer over his head and bringing it crashing down upon the skull of a giant, cracking its head open in a blast of brains and blood.

He saw the knight turn and look at him, before another giant obscured his vision. He smashed the offending foe out of his way before rushing to the knights side, as the giants closed ranks around them.

They fought back to back, The Pursuer and The Aegis, one a killer of men and the other a guardian of kings. The two of them seemed immortal, killing giant after giant, tearing apart all who opposed them, until they reached the beach and turned, realising they were separated from the main army.

The knight looked at him, and Velstatd looked back. Then they heard a roar that filled the air and struck terror into the hearts of all the humans who heard it. The roar of the Giant Lord.

They looked each other in the eye. This would be the decisive kill, and they would need to cooperate. They both nodded at the same time, and then turned to face their foe.

The Giant Lord was enormous, even for a giant, nearly twice the size of a normal giant, and was in the midst of climbing the fort walls.

"How are we to reach him?" Velstatd asked as he gestured to the crown wearing monster.

The Pursuer merely held up a hand and whistled.

The Eagle lunged downwards and grabbed the Pursuers shoulders, as he grabbed Velstatds hand. The Eagle took off, effortlessly carrying both of the knights to their destination.

Velstatd dropped first, landing on the fort ramparts while heaving his hammer over his shoulder as The Pursuer fell to the ground, drawing his sword. They nodded to each other once more before charging, roaring a unified battlecry.

The Giant noticed them too late, as Velstatd swung his hammer in an arc, splitting the bones in its leg, but its rock hard skin held it up. It swung its sword, but The Pursuer caught the blow on his shield and let the blade skid off, before stabbing it in the shin, his blade piercing the skin, the beasts ancient blood spewing forth from the wound.

It roared in pain before stabbing downward toward Velstatd, who leapt back to dodge the blow, before jumping forward, swinging into and breaking the blade, sending one half spinning away as the other half remained in the Giant Lords hand.

The Pursuers eagle dove in with a screech, pecking and slashing with its talons at the beasts head, as it roared and tried to swat it out of the air, successfully hitting it with his off hand, and the bird fell to the ground as The Pursuer roared in anger, slashing with his blade at the giants injured leg.

The sword made several cuts before the Giant Lord stomped, the Pursuer once again catching the strike on his shield, then it was a clash of strength, the Pursuers augmented strength pushing against the size of the Giant Lord.

Then Lothian happened.

The Shieldless hero smashed the beasts leg aside as it roared in anger, stabbing downwards at the knight of Forossa. He rolled away from the blade, before throwing his axe, the huge weapon spinning through the air, smashing into the Giant Lords head and toppling the tall, thin creature as Lothian charged, pulling his axe from the sunken pit that was its face, smashing down and down until it stopped moving.

He stopped and looked at The Pursuer.

"One-Hundred." He said simply.

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**Damn that was fun to write! I know Lothians sudden arrival was somewhat nonsensical, but that was so much fun to write I don't care! (Regains Composure)**

**Scribe out.**


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